I No Longer Reach for You

I no longer reach for you.

Not because I stopped loving—

but because I started listening

to the silence you left behind.

I used to stretch my hands through heaven,

trying to hold onto threads

you kept letting go of.

Calling it love.

Calling it effort.

Calling it mine to fix.

But I mistook my reaching

for receiving.

And I forgot that real love

walks toward you,

not just away.

Now, I water my own garden

before offering a single drop.

I fold my warmth around me

like a cloak,

not a gift thrown into cold hands.

I no longer reach for you—

because my arms got tired

from holding the weight

of your indecision.

I no longer chase echoes.

I sit in the temple of my becoming.

I let love find me where I stand,

not where I kneel.

And if you ever come back—

you’ll find no anger at the door.

Only a woman

who learned how to bloom

without needing

to be held.